


Nice legs, date me?

by hemlockchan



Category: One Piece
Genre: Airports, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Meet-Cute, Nipple Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemlockchan/pseuds/hemlockchan
Summary: Everyone knows that time stands still in airports. Unfortunately for Sanji, this meant lots of time away from his dear friend nicotine, and too much time grousing about terrible, overpriced food options. Good thing he found something, or rather someone, to distract him.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 14
Kudos: 129





	Nice legs, date me?

Sanji bustled through the narrow walkway as fast as he could without disturbing the lovely ladies stretching their legs and _ooh thank god for leggings_. His flight had just landed on the rain-soaked runway, coasting past row after row of sleek planes before sliding into a gate and bringing freedom just within reach.

  
Airplanes? Not exactly Sanji’s thing. He loved his legs, really--they kicked ass, literally, and were equally killer in the right pants. However, there were times, such as now, when he resented, just a bit, those long, lean, powerful machines that had spent the past hour and a half cramped and folded, anxiously bouncing with restless energy. He was on his way to Brazil to compete in the world-famous chef-du-monde contest. THE contest that would be the make-or-break moment of his career. His throat closed up, and his hand made an aborted movement to pull at his hair before habit snapped it back down. No big deal, not like $2 million (USD) in restaurant start-up funds was riding on this (it was). Not like it was a participate-once-in-a-lifetime event (it was). Not like victory meant he’d be able to woo any lady he wanted (it didn’t, Sanji, that’s not how it works, we talked about this).

  
But the flight was over, and he had more pressing concerns to distract him worrying about the competition: namely, finding a smoker’s area. He twirled around the pair of stretching ladies from before, and made a beeline for a distant sign with a blurry cigarette label. He pulled out a pack plus his lighter, steps light and airy, till he grew closer and closer to his destination and his relieved grin gave way to a face of despair.

UNDER CONSTRUCTION.  
WE HUMBLY APOLOGIZE.  
NICOTINE GUM IS AVAILABLE AT CONVENIENCE STORES LOCATED IN WING B.  
HAVE A GOOD DAY.

“Son of a bastard!” Sanji turned to the first employee he could find, a heavyset man whistling a tune. “Hey, what the fuck’s up with the smoking rooms. You got any others in this dump?”

  
The man looked at the sign, looked at Sanji, looked back at the sign, and shrugged. “It’s my first day here, dunno.”

  
“Useless!” Sanji was about to keep going when the scent of dew-laden rose petals at dawn crept into the air, preceding the arrival of a petite femme wearing the navy blue uniform of the employees.

  
“Sir, may I help you?” She intoned with a dimpled smile.

  
“My angel, how kind of you to come. I was but inquiring about the existence of a second smoker’s area.” Sanji all but fell to his knees, stiffness lingering from the flight mingling with the shaky-knee syndrome he inevitably contracted in the presence of a goddess (Usopp is that you).

  
“I am so sorry to disappoint you, sir, but all the smoker’s areas in this airport are undergoing renovation due to an incident earlier this week. For your safety, we ask that you forego smoking entirely while in this airport. May I direct you to the nearest convenience store so that you may purchase nicotine-infused gum?”

  
Sanji’s delighted smile was frozen on his face. “Ah, no, so, ah, so sweet of you to haha offer, ah, goodbye!” Sanji stalked off gloomily. Nicotine gum? Really?? He’d tried it. Lord, he’d tried it. However, the act of chewing gum was stubbornly repulsive to him. It lacked any nutrition, ran out of flavor within moments, and confused the hell out of his brain. _Chew? No food, but chew?_ Over his dead body!

  
The only thing for him to do was find the gate for his next flight and wait. He had brought a book for when meal-planning became stale, another one that Robin had lent him. Robin was a true lifesaver. Sanji was prone to the cycle of overwork-burnout-recover-repeat. It was endemic among artists and scientists alike, so chefs, being both simultaneously, got a double dose. Coming up with new dishes required time to think and experiment, which was nearly impossible when working the brunch and evening shifts 6 days a week at one of the most popular restaurants in San Francisco, the Baratie. Sure, there was a sweet golden period right after the recovery stage and right before burnout set it. During that golden period, his creativity and innovation flourished; everyday he perfected his craft. However, the punishment was severe. During burnout, he could barely think beyond _stir, raise the heat, measure, taste, yell at Zeff_ , and during recovery he could do little more than lie in bed for several days waiting for the haze to lift from his mind.

  
Clearly, an unsustainable way of life. Moreover, he dreamed of running his own restaurant one day, when he wouldn’t have the luxury of being able to call in sick for a few days while he recovered from his overly zealous activities. He would be responsible for making sure everything was running smoothly, all the time, and keeping his employees in line.

  
Earlier that month, he had expressed this concern to Robin over one of their semi-regular coffee dates. He felt, often, that they understood each other quite well. Both had some darkness lingering from cruel childhoods. He’d never expressed this sentiment exactly, but felt it reciprocated in small exchanges. Given this relationship, and his general respect for the woman, he felt that Robin would have particularly insightful advice.

  
~~ _flashback~~_

  
“Well, it sounds like you need something to force yourself to slow down. Without this outside force, you will simply work yourself to an inch of your grave.”

  
Sanji nodded enthusiastically.

  
“I would recommend you subscribe to some regular activity. Besides kicking men’s heads in at the savate ring. How about you read this book and get back to me?”

  
“My lovely Robin, how smart you are!”

  
~~ _end flashback~~_

  
Remembering the conversation fondly, Sanji pulled the book out of his bag. Perhaps Robin’s scent lingering on the pages would distract him from the looming competition and his sad cigarette-less state. He spared a fleeting glance to the summary on the back before opening and starting to read.

  
He was only a few pages in when a crash and thump sounded off startlingly close. Another man had flopped down in the seat across from him, loudly dropped a duffel bag onto the floor, and propped his legs up on it. The man had bronzed skin and broad shoulders that strained the front of his black t-shirt. The material was stretched tightly across his chest, highlighting the shadows created by firm pecs. Sanji crossed his legs and snapped his gaze back down to the pages.

Minutes later he realized he’d been reading the same line over and over again without really processing it. _Are joggers a gay signal?_ The man’s uncaring attitude was a point for team hetero, but there was also that outlandish hair color. Sanji gave up reading past that one line and began surreptitiously sneaking glances.

The man had a large pair of headphones nestled into his moss-green hair, but no music leaked out of them despite the way he was subtly nodding his head to some beat. He fiddled with his phone briefly before tossing it aside. And that’s when he started, just, stretching. He brought both massive arms up and over his head, causing the bottom of his shirt to ride up and reveal a mouth-watering strip of smooth tan skin just above his waistband. Sanji quickly looked away from what lay just below the waistband, and then quickly wished he’d stayed in what now seemed like safer territory. The exaggerated overhead stretch had caused the shirt to tighten even more across the well-defined chest, revealing what the fabric folds had previously hidden: small, angular bumps in the lower mid-pec region, right before the flesh of the muscle began to slope down. Nipple-piercings. It was the only explanation.

Sanji fished out a tissue from his bag, looking away and dabbing at his nose. He wouldn’t dare get blood on Robin’s book. Right, the book! He flipped a page, new focus rising within him, along with other things, and began reading at record speed.

 _And I went with Lori to see the fireworks at the fair, where we tried the best nipple piercings I’d ever had._ Wait what. ... _where we tried the best_ noodles _I’d ever had_. Sanji suppressed a groan, wanting to get up and find a new seat but unable to do so without calling attention to his growing problem.

 _Honestly_ , thought Sanji, _after smoking this is the next best distraction_. Giving in never felt so good. He shifted about in his chair so that the book was propped up on one knee at eye level so he could observe the man while passably reading the book. Had he ever been even the slightest bit ungrateful for his long, flexible legs? Surely the thought had never crossed his mind. They certainly came in handy now.

However, his stirrings and muttered curses drew the man’s attention. He swung his head around, three earrings jingling, and there was a moment of searing eye contact between the two. The blonde, ever suave, simply raised his eyebrows, and the man shrugged, shutting his eyes for a nap and leaning his head back on his hands in a way that made his biceps bulge. Sanji rolled his eyes at the obvious flex while relief washed over him. Now, he could take his time mentally undressing the man, starting at his dirt-flecked boots, working his way up the loose grey joggers, pausing at the narrow hips, stuttering over the strip of tan skin, getting lost in the mid-pec trying to determine the exact shape of the nipple piercings, before finally, finally, making his way to the man’s sharp jaw, surprisingly long and dark eyelashes, and piercing grey eyes.

  
Eyes?

  
Realizing in horror that the man had been watching Sanji check him out the entire time, Sanji flipped several pages and began reading furiously. _We invaded the castle at dawn._ What the fuck were they doing in a castle? Wait what was this book even about?

  
Sanji risked another glance at the man, only to find that he was returning the eye-fuck in double, with a knowing smirk that had shivers running up Sanji’s spine even as it set his dignity aflame. Bastard.

  
“You got a problem, moss-head, I’m clearly trying to read here.”

  
“It’s a good book.” Was all he got in response. Sanji rolled his eyes at the obvious line.

  
“Uhhuh, as if you’ve read any of it.”

  
The man grinned as if he’d won. “Something tells me I’ve read more than you, since your eyes have been staring at the same spot on the page for the past 5 minutes.”

  
Sanji felt heat rising to his cheeks, secretly glad the embarrassment was keeping blood away from his lower half. “You must have been paying a lot of attention to figure that out. I’m flattered, really, though I’m more surprised that you know how to read.”

  
The man barked a laugh. “I should be saying that -- how do you read when half your face is covered by your hair? Man, some people never outgrow the angst phase.”

  
Sanji was about to retort when suddenly the man lunged forward, hand half-outstretched to Sanji's face, stopped only by a shoe pressing into his well-muscled chest. “The hell do you think you’re up to, pervert?”

  
“Wow, it really is a spiral!” The man was staring at Sanji’s eyebrow in slack-jawed bewilderment. “And the other one?” Against all common courtesy, the man leaned farther into Sanji’s space and reached for the curtain of hair covering the other side of his face. Naturally, Sanji’s leg snapped and sent him flying back into his seat, but not before the buffoon had grabbed the book out of Sanji’s hands and started flipping through it petulantly.

  
“You’re a manchild. A literal overgrown ape.”

  
“Haha, you’re only on page 12. The dad’s such a bitch in this, wait till you get to the scene in the pirate ship.”

  
“Does the green hair mutation affect intelligence and manners too?”

  
“As if you’re one to lecture me on freak mutations, curlybrows.”

  
Sanji puffed out his cheeks in irritation and stomped on one of the man’s out-stretched feet. He let the man flip through the pages for a while, grumbling when the man fumbled and almost dropped it as he was returning it with any remorse. Of course he had no respect for other strangers’ things.

  
Sanji returned to reading his really quite fascinating book, or at least he made a valiant effort to. The other man kept provoking him and starting little arguments that had the elderly couple on the other end of the bench shushing them furiously. Sanji was winning by far the exchange of insults (chefs were raised to give hell) and also dominating the game of footsie he’d started. His only handicap was that he didn’t want to get mud from the mosshead’s shoes on his pants.

  
To compensate for his slightly shorter legs, Zoro slid a bit down the chair to reach Sanji’s feet. “Prissy boy, you can’t keep yourself clean forever,” Zoro added with a smirk that was downright dirty.

  
“I don’t need to get dirty to step all over you.” Sanji punctuated this claim with a twisting maneuver that got his feet on top of Zoro’s shins, pinning his legs to the ground.

  
“Kinky, I can roll with that,” Zoro grinned, but was obviously struggling to break out.

  
“Just admit defeat.” Sanji spat.

  
“I’d rather cut off my own feet than lose to you.”

  
Sanji rolled his eyes. “Self-mutilation does seem to be your MO.”

  
Zoro looked a bit confused and then followed Sanji’s meaningful gaze to his pec and realized what he was talking about. Zoro fondled the metal nub with his thumb, watching inky black pupils expand to take over clear blue irises. Zoro readily played into it, using both hands to rotate, tweak, and tug at each piercing. When Sanji’s hold became just a little looser, Zoro surged up, breaking free with a triumphant laugh.

  
Sanji, red-faced and steaming, pointed a finger in accusation. “Cheater! Ooh that is such cheating!”

  
Zoro was cracking up, head thrown back, hands clutching his sides. “I-haha-I don’t know what you’re talking about, I was just uhh scratching an itch.”

  
“I’ll rip that itch out with my teeth.”

  
Zoro paled instantly and covered his chest with his arms protectively. “Dude don’t even joke about that. Too far.”

  
A pinprick of guilt poked Sanji, and he rubbed the back of his head. “Alright, alright, not the best imagery. Truce?”

  
Zoro still seemed distrustful, but he nodded and stuck out a hand. With a somber air, the two men shook hands. “I’m Zoro, by the way.”

  
“Who cares. I’m Sanji.”

  
“Tch. Who cares.”

  
They both stared in opposite directions, awkward silence on the horizon, until a voice over the loudspeaker blared. “Flight 333 to Rio now boarding group B. Group B please line up at Gate K.” Sanji bolted upright, remembering with a start where he was and where he was going.

  
“That’s me,” he said to Zoro, only to find the other man also getting up. “Please don’t tell me we’re getting on the same flight.”

  
“My lucky day,” Zoro drawled, holding up a ticket that clearly matched Sanji’s own. Sanji’s heart pounded as he skimmed the other’s ticket for the seat number, and he felt relieved, of course, just relieved, when he saw that their seats were nowhere near each other’s.

  
Huffing, Sanji started packing his things, immensely irritated when Zoro didn’t even wait and started walking off without him, except that... “Dumbass, you’re going the wrong way!”

  
Zoro flinched, and then very purposefully kept walking to a nearby trashcan, where he made a terrible imitation of throwing something away before wheeling around and stalking back to Sanji. “Stop taking so long, swirly, you’re gonna make me miss my flight if I have to wait to show your slow-ass where the gate is.”

  
Sanji was nearly wordless at the sheer ridiculousness of that display. But, well, not wordless for long (chefs were raised to give hell). “Nobody asked you to wait, I don’t even want to spend another second around you if I have to.”

  
Zoro leaned down to Sanji’s ear, breath tickling the nape of his neck. “Your reactions say otherwise.” Zoro leaned back, giving a meaningful glance down to Sanji’s crotch. Sanji looked down reflexively, only to find that nothing was amiss. A vengeful foot shot out with rock-breaking power, digging Zoro’s shin and sending the man hopping about on one foot, face scrunched in pain.

  
“Heh,” Sanji tilted his chin up and headed off to the correct gate, letting his hips sway from side to side for the benefit of the injured man hopping after him. Their petty shots and fuss died down when they slotted into line for the plane that they were apparently both boarding.

  
The same female employee from before took Sanji’s ticket with a professional but genuine smile that sent Sanji’s heart into tachycardia.

  
“Thank you so much, mademoiselle, have a wonderful day.” Sanji bowed elegantly, curbing his urge to kiss the back of her hand out of respect for her personal space. As he continued into the walkway leading into the plane, the sound of a discourteous grunt snapped Sanji out of his lady-induced mental haze. “Haven’t you learned any manners, you’re supposed to thank them, bastard.”

  
Zoro, to his credit, looked genuinely confused. “But everyone thanks them, they must be sick of hearing it all day long. And I’m not going to prostrate myself at their feet unlike spineless freaks like you. I actually have dignity.”

  
Sanji scoffed. “Dignity? With that hair color? I don’t think so. You clearly have never worked in the service industry. If you did, then you’d know that even a small kind word of gratitude goes a long way to making up for all the self-entitled rude fucks, like a certain mosshead I know.” They meandered down the walkway, still griping at each other.

  
“I haven’t worked in customer service, but one of my oldest friends did for a long time, and she doesn’t give a shit. She’s just in it for the money, doesn’t make a difference to her if someone says thank you unless they’re thanking her with an extra large tip. So if I want to show gratitude or say I think they’re doing a good job, I’ll leave a tip. But the words are meaningless, just plain lip service.”

  
Taken aback that Zoro had such a well-developed, though still obviously wrong, opinion, Sanji felt embarrassed for calling the other man out so harshly, but stayed the course regardless. “That might be true for animals like you, but words show sentiment and thought, and if I can make a girl feel even the slightest bit happier with a few words, then I’d gladly do it each time. No skin off my back. Hell, there’ve been times in my life when a few kind words would’ve made all the difference.” Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the slow shuffle towards the plane. “It’s about empathy.” He added.

  
Zoro was silent for a moment, and Sanji felt suddenly that he had exposed too much of himself, and longed to stuff a cigarette in his mouth to keep the words from spilling out. But the green-haired man just smiled softly. “I respect that.” Zoro left it at that, and the conversation died. However, after Sanji passed the welcoming stewardess and began winding through seats on the plane, he heard a muttered “thank you” behind him in a rich baritone, and the sound made him smile.

  
After they separated, Sanji was delighted to find that he had an entire row to himself, and was about to stretch his legs across all three seats when a lovely stewardess appeared before him.

  
“Excuse me, sir, but we would like to make a seating change to allow a family to sit together. Would you be okay with moving to another seat for me?”

  
Sanji glanced at the indicated family, the mother bouncing a small child in her arms, the father covering his wife’s shoulders with a woolen sweater. “But of course, anything for you!” Sanji stood up graciously, giving the three-seat row a mournful glance before following the stewardess dutifully. She paused at a row a little further along, and spread out an arm elegantly to indicate a seat. Sanji followed her motions to the seat, and, his eyes straying beyond to his new seatmate, to a pair of narrowed steel grey eyes watching him with suspicion.

  
“You again!” Sanji exclaimed.

Zoro grimaced. “Stalker.”

  
“I’m not a stalker, idiot, there was a family. Move over.” Sanji nudged Zoro’s feet, somewhat unnecessarily, and hurried to assuage the concerned stewardess that there would be no problems between him and the ungracious planthead.

  
Zoro seemed to be ignoring him completely, and was fast asleep within moments. Sanji sighed and leaned back. It was a short flight, but he’d been hoping to be able to strike up a conversation with a more beautiful seatmate than the creature he was currently stuck with. Watching Zoro’s chest movements to make sure he was actually asleep this time, Sanji let himself drink in the details of the man’s body. The piercings were, once again, lost in bunched up fabric due to the man’s slouch, filling Sanji with resent and relief in equal parts. Still, Sanji could now see Zoro’s face up close, and quickly realized that his striking eyes were in part so striking due to a thin strip of eyeliner that ran along each row of lashes. _He really is gorgeous_. Sanji shook his head as if he could physically dislodge the unwanted thoughts. He picked up the long-forgotten book, and let himself fall into the make-believe world that sprang from its pages.

~~

  
The flight was over almost as soon as it began. His seatmate's soft snoring, while initially as obnoxious as the color of his hair, soon lulled Sanji into a quiet mental space free of all concerns, reminiscing on childhood memories of sneaking into the kitchen as the old man snored away in his armchair. After they landed, Zoro, while fast to fall asleep, apparently took a while to wake up, as he very docilely let Sanji push him around to pack his things and leave the metal cage. He only raised his voice once, as they were about to exit the row, to tell Sanji that he’d left his book in the seat’s mesh pocket. Sanji griped that Zoro had put it there to mess with him, and Zoro just laughed and called him an idiot.

  
“You should take better care of your things, curlybrow. Careless, careless.”

  
Sanji jerked in an aborted attempt to kick the living shit out of Zoro’s shins, self-control setting in when a stewardess beamed at him with an almost menacing smile.

  
“I hope you had a wonderful flight, sir, please be careful as you very quickly leave the plane without any incidents.”

Indeed, the duo escaped the plane without causing more trouble. In fact, they flowed through the crowds of people with ease. Sanji knew he was attaching too much to their brief meeting, but wandering through the airport together like this was something he’d never really done with another person. He’d almost always been alone on each of his few journeys around the world. Travelling with Zeff, in the beginning, had been an awkward and fear-filled affair, with Sanji wondering when the grumpy old chef would beat him or sell him off for spare change. Even after trust had grown between them, travelling together had never been anyone's idea of fun. Here, Sanji could trip Zoro, get chased to a convenience store, where they mocked the expensive prices. Sanji learned that Zoro actually lived in Brazil, and spoke Portuguese fluently. When they reached the warm outdoors, where late afternoon sunlight cast everything in a red-orange glow, Zoro teased Sanji for how quickly he lit up a cigarette with a grateful moan. Although a man (or woman) was entitled to just one vice, it didn’t have to be such a smelly one. Sanji made a show of exhaling cigarette breath all over the green-haired man’s face, pink lips almost grazing tan cheeks.

  
However, these dream-like moments of strange friendship with this complete stranger inevitably came to an end. Sanji hailed his taxi. It approached far too quickly, till it was before his feet, the driver beckoning him to get in. Sanji turned towards Zoro, who was looking a little awkward on the curbside, hands shoved in his pockets and a boyish wide-eyedness on his face.

“We could split the taxi...” Sanji ventured, disappointed when Zoro shook his head slowly.

  
“My friends told me to stay where I am since they’re coming to pick me up.” Zoro explained after a moment.

  
An ugly bitterness welled up within Sanji for a moment, but fell away as his instinctive resignation for goodbyes took over. _Why did I even get my hopes up._ Sanji shrugged, appearing as uncaring as ever, and stepped into the taxi. He was about to shut the door when Zoro lunged forward, propping the door open and leaning down to Sanji’s eye level, their faces just a few inches apart.

  
“Enjoy the book,” was all Zoro said before he shut the door himself and turned away.

  
Sanji flipped him off for no reason other than to express some unnamed emotion, and beckoned the taxi driver to get them out of there, trying and failing not to generalize this moment of being let down to the rest of his visit to Brazil, competition included.

  
Later that day, Sanji finally flopped onto the hotel bed, utterly exhausted from his travels but feeling more alive than ever. Throughout the nonstop bickering with the greenheaded moron, he hadn’t thought once about the contest, or at least not until the very end. _That goodbye was really awkward..._

  
Suddenly feeling anxious again, he fished out the damn book from his bag, giggling and hating himself for giggling when he opened it up to page 12. He dimmed the lighting and settled into the starched white sheets to hopefully bore himself to sleep. The book was beginning to pick up, and Sanji couldn’t help but agree with the other man’s assessment that the dad was a bitch. He shifted positions again, lying on his back with the book stretched overhead. He had just reached the scene with the pirate ship and was turning the page when a white piece of paper fluttered out of the crease and landed squarely on his face.

  
Sputtering, Sanji sat up and grabbed at the paper.

44-8492-0930  
Nice legs, date me?  
-Zoro

Sanji’s face flushed, ~~squealing~~ cursing even as he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his face. He didn’t hesitate to pull out his phone, pausing only to think of what to write for his first text. Brazil just became way more interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading yet another fluff-ridden tooth-rotting oneshot! Pls feed me comments!
> 
> I'm pretty sure I botched Sanji's expressions of adoration for women because it just feels sarcastic.


End file.
